Stag Night

My body had begun to tremble quite uncontrollably, the shock of what I'd done setting in. She helped me tuck in my shirt and pulled my belt through my trouser loops, fastening it, and quite calmly handed me her abandoned glass of whisky, which I knocked back gratefully. She smoothed my hair a bit as if I were a boy she were sending off to school, appraised me once more, and then laughed weakly. "You look a perfect sot. Go home."

I knew she was doing me a favour, but I was gutted. Many times in my youth I'd gotten my rocks off and been shown the door, but just now I needed some sort of resolution, comfort, somebody to make all this go away. Who else was going to do it?! She noted my hesitation, and her tone hardened. "You heard me. Go HOME." She sat on the bed, her back to me, hugging her knees. I was dismissed. I pulled the door shut behind me, shoving my injured hand into my pocket to avoid leaving a trail of evidence along the corridor to the lift.

Linda was a woman who knew what she wanted and got it. But how the bloody hell had she known she would get that from me? I was a dog, some rutting animal controlled by his cock. I'd thought to use her, and left feeling utterly used. Shame and humiliation burnt my cheeks as I staggered home, where straight away I boaked my guts into the toilet. I made some effort to improve my breath with mouthwash, shrugged off my sodden clothing, and crawled sullenly into bed, wracked with guilt.

"I hope it was worth it," I heard Catherine grumble. I stiffened. She rolled over and peeked open an eye, then grinned wryly and ruffled my hair, shaking her head. Of course she was talking about my having just been sick. I returned the grin wanly.

"Never again," I groaned, and I folded her into my arms, clutching her tightly for a long time.